IRONY

ALWAYS, sweetheart,
Carry into your room the blossoming boughs of
    cherry,
Almond and apple and pear diffuse with light, that
    very
Soon strews itself on the floor; and keep the radiance
    of spring
Fresh quivering; keep the sunny-swift March-days
    waiting
In a little throng at your door, and admit the one
    who is plaiting
Her hair for womanhood, and play awhile with her,
    then bid her depart.

    A come and go of March-day loves
    Through the flower-vine, trailing screen;
       A fluttering in of doves.
    Then a launch abroad of shrinking doves
    Over the waste where no hope is seen
    Of open hands:
               Dance in and out
    Small-bosomed girls of the spring of love,
    With a bubble of laughter, and shrilly shout
    Of mirth; then the dripping of tears on your
        glove.